Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
ELLIE
I couldn’t sleep and now I look as if I’ve been punched in both eyes.
I groan as I attempt to disguise them with the fresh box of make-up that was in the vanity drawer.
In fact, there is a fresh set of everything. Skincare, lotions, lingerie—in my size—and an outfit that makes me drool.
The cream cashmere sweater and a matching skirt is a delicious dream. It dusts below my knees, preserving my modesty, but has a split almost to my thigh. Pantyhose and cream soft leather heels dress me in business and I could be attending any kind of event at all. It is that well thought out.
Today, I brush my freshly washed hair so it hangs past my shoulders and I feel like a million dollars as I head out of the room. I kind of remember where to go and as I stride confidently into the living area, my mouth waters when I see Arman sitting at a glass table, a pot of coffee set before him.
He is reading the newspaper and doesn’t glance up as I head toward him and my heart sinks.
Why does he look so perfect and act as if he doesn’t want me anymore? I performed like a whore on her knees before him last night and I expect that’s how he sees me now.
I hesitate, unsure what to do next and he says with no emotion, “Sit.”
I drop into the seat on the other side of the table and he lowers the newspaper, peering over the top with an enigmatic stare.
He stares for a hot minute and I desperately try to see what’s going through his mind by his expression, but he merely shrugs and then folds the paper and places it on the table.
“I have a business proposition for you.”
He says simply and I nod, too wired to speak.
“You need a job.”
I nod, not really knowing what else to do, and he says coolly.
“I’m offering you one.”
I swear to God if he asks me to be his whore, I’ll toss that coffee pot firmly at his arrogant head.
“I need an assistant. Short term only while I’m in New York.”
“An assistant?”
My eyes widen. I can do this. I can assist. This may not be so bad .
“You will be provided with board and lodgings. Here in my penthouse. Your own room, of course, equipped with everything you need. What is your answer?”
“Okay.”
My voice is brittle and cold to match his and he frowns.
“What happened last night will not be repeated. Do I make myself clear?”
My face burns as he fixes me with a blank expression.
“Understood.”
My voice almost breaks because I feel so stupid. Cheap even and nothing as powerful as when I walked away from him.
“Today will be the first meeting we attend in your new role. You are required to listen, not speak.”
“That’s fine by me.”
It really is because I can listen. How hard can it be? I may not understand a word that he speaks, but I’ll listen to the conversation if it means I have a job.
I’m not sure if this is the right time to raise the subject of my salary, but he can obviously read minds as he says flippantly, “I require your bank details. There is a form you need to fill in to add you to my payroll. Your salary will be one million dollars.”
I must have blacked out there for a second because I’m hearing things.
I say nothing as he waits for my reaction and I must have gone pale because he slides a glass of water across the table toward me.
“The money will reflect your value to my organization. When I leave, you will live here. The money is a retainer. When I’m in town, I expect you to be available. To be at my beck and call and to follow my instructions.”
“Beck and call?” I shift in my seat.
“Um, explain. Please. ”
It’s getting really hot in here and he says shortly, “Business, Ellie. You will learn how to be the best god-damned assistant you can be, because I demand the best. That’s it. I require your mind and your organizational skills and nothing else. Occasionally, I may ask you to accompany me on evenings out with clients. That is all. You arrange my diary, my cleaning and my social life. Not that I have much of that, but I occasionally like to date. They expect flowers the next day and a gift. You will organize it.”
He has shot me down in flames and put me firmly in my place.
So, this is how it’s going to be.
I failed.
I took charge of something that wasn’t mine to control and he is driving that point home. Business. It will always be business with him and I must learn to accept that.
I take a deep breath and nod, desperately trying not to reveal how upset this conversation is making me.
I glance up as the door opens and a man in white—of course he’s in white—wheels a trolley into the room with several domed dishes set on it.
He proceeds to serve the most extravagant breakfast and when he leaves, Arman says firmly, “Now eat. We have thirty minutes before we head to the office. Our first meeting is at ten and you will spend the first hour filing in those forms. Then report to the reception and wait for my ten o’clock meeting to show and escort them to my office. Penelope, in human resources, will familiarize you with the layout of my offices.”
I say nothing as he reaches for the newspaper, effectively shutting off the conversation, leaving me to pick at my food that tastes like straw in my mouth.
The fact I’ve just landed a dream job is beside the point because I have a feeling I lost something extremely valuable due to my reckless behavior last night.
I’ve lost him.
The only man who has made me drop to my knees willingly and he will be the last. A cold barrier settles over my heart as I struggle to regain control. Yes. It’s always been me, just me and Ellie Adams will be no exception to that rule.
At nine forty-five I am still reeling from the past two hours.
We traveled to his office in convoy but this time Luka sat beside Arman and I was relegated to the car behind. Alone.
He is being so cold. So distant and there’s a dull ache in my heart that was full last night.
Penelope was a sweetie, but even she couldn’t lift my spirits and I sensed her frustration with me. I guess she is wondering why he hired me because I lack every single skill required, it seems.
Ten o’clock soon comes around and I wait nervously in the reception area, wondering if somebody will tell me who I’m meant to be meeting. I watch with interest as various people blow in off the sidewalk, wondering if any of them are the person I’m waiting for. In fact, I’m getting nervous because it’s now five past the hour and there is still no sign of them.
Have I failed already and missed my mark? Are they even coming at all, or was this just a test?
At ten minutes past the hour, I glance up as a woman heads through the revolving doors and something about her assured swagger tells me she is the person I’m waiting for.
She is tall, possibly in her late forties, wearing a smart navy suit and a white shirt. Pearls choke around her neck and huge oversized sunglasses obscure her eyes.
She is carrying a huge leather purse that is slung around one shoulder and her heels trip on the marble as she heads to the receptionist.
I must admire the woman. She is certainly elegant if not vaguely familiar.
The receptionist smiles at me and gestures for me to come over and I head toward them and as the woman turns, the receptionist says formally, “Miss Steele to meet Mr. Romanov.”
I swear the blood drains from my face because what the actual hell?
As she removes the shades, I catch my breath as she studies me with a quizzical expression.
It’s as if she is assessing me and I have lost all power of speech and then her slightly curious gaze is replaced by a brief smile as she says formally, “Good morning. Please excuse my late appearance. Traffic was a bitch.”
She sweeps her gaze past me and glances at her watch, and I swear my heart has shattered.
She doesn’t recognize me.
She’s not even pretending, either. It’s as if I’m a stranger that seems familiar somehow. For a moment there, I thought she had guessed, but has obviously decided I am of no interest to her.
I am a mess of emotions. Fury, pain and disbelief mix with hatred and grief. I am meeting with my mother for the first time in over twenty years and she doesn’t even know who I am.
Somehow I manage to squeak, “Please. Follow me.”
I walk slightly in front of her because I can’t bear to look at her and I don’t want her to see me crumble. There is so much I want to say, but my instructions were clear. Listen, don’t speak.
Arman Romanov is a bastard. My fury turns to him because he planned this. Was the job offer just a way to engineer this meeting for his own enjoyment? Will I be fired by the end of the day when he has no further use for me?
Will my mother leave with the knowledge I am her daughter and will I kill them both the first opportunity I get? Luka would do it for me. That man would do it to pass the time. He is that sinister.
I can’t believe this is happening and as we make our way to the elevator, I am grateful for the surge of people who take the ride with us.